Science vs Romance
by liam22
Summary: Sylar/Claire. "You bring up evolutionary imperative again, and you’ll have to convince Elle to be your brood mare..."


**Title: Science vs Romance  
Fandom: Heroes  
Pairing: Sylar/Claire  
Rating: pg-13 for implied sex  
Prompt: Science vs Romance for ****15songtitles****  
Word Count: 1658 words  
Note: Thanks so much to ****cheapvalentine**** for helping me iron out the concept of this oh so long ago :)**

"How did I get myself into this mess again?" Claire asked petulantly. She knew, but why pass up the chance to give Sylar a hard time about it.

Two years ago, Claire would have told you that the only way she would be in Sylar's kitchen, talking about procreation, would be if he happened to shove something into the back of her skull. But no, physically, she's one hundred percent intact (mentally, well…)

Things changed in the process of taking down the company. She wouldn't say that they were best friends exactly; they didn't get together to paint each other's nails and gossip about celebrities. But, he no longer wanted to turn her into a shish-cabob, and she learned not to be completely creaped out by his serial killer schict. It was progress.

"You owe me a favor, remember: _please, please, I'll do anything_," he mimicked. If she thought she was getting out of this, then she had another thing coming.

"I do not sound like that."

"You said _anything_. This is falls into that incredibly broad category. Think of it as a lesson for next time."

"There's not going to be a next time."

"But your mother called this morning and invited me over for Christmas. I told her we'd bring desert. We can't back out now."

"You told her WHAT…"

"I'm thinking cherry pie, or maybe red velvet cake. What do you think?"

"I think that it was only supposed to be a onetime thing."

"Then I guess introducing me as your fiancé to the Bennet-Petrelli clan was a misstep. Your mother wants a June wedding, you know."

"Well, my dad would rather gorge his eyes out, than let you actually marry me. So I think we're safe. It was a onetime thing; I'll call my mother in the morning and tell her the terrible news: you were just using me as a cover." Even Claire would admit that the imaginary air quotes around the word terrible was a bit over the top. Still, she wasn't marrying him, even if what he wanted in return was a parasite that they could knit booties for.

Bringing him to Thanksgiving dinner had been the perfect way to rebel against Nathan for setting her up with that stuffy senator's son. Bennet threatened several kinds of torture, Nathan brought his shotgun to the dinner table, and Claire's supposed date remained seemingly oblivious, rattling off facts about dung beetles. Nevertheless, Claire's favorite part of the meal was when her mother asked why everyone was "giving Claire's nice young man such a hard time"; she never knew her father could turn that shade of red. She doubted that they'd ever try to set her up again.

"Fine, I'll do it. But only this once. And if it ends up being surprise twins, you so owe me another favor."

"How shall we get started?"

"You don't know; it was your idea. Can't you just go with man's age old tradition of getting into a woman's pants: lie and say you love me."

"I could; but then you might expect candles and romance."

"From you; never."

"There will also be no snuggling afterwards, just so we're clear."

"And they say that's the best part."

"Well, they don't have an evolutionary imperative to breed the next generation of gifted individuals…" He had more to say on the matter, but she cut him off before he could launch into a ten-minute tirade (again). She swore the only agreed to this to shut him up.

"Just so we're clear," she mocked, a hard edge on her voice. She got that he didn't like her like that, but she really wished he's stop reminding her. "You bring up evolutionary imperative again, and you'll have to convince Elle to be your brood mare."

"Fine."

"Whatever."

"Don't start. I was just trying to make sure we have all the facts in place. It wouldn't do to overlook something."

"Make it sound so clinical, why dontcha. How about just impregnating me with a turkey baster. I'm sure Peter has some gay porn around her somewhere."

"Claire…" he practically growls her name. He had to bite back the urge to punish her for that remark. It was a bit too much like the pretty girls at school, laughing when he had the audacity to look their way. She should know better.

"No need to get testy. It was just a suggestion. I've seen the way you look at Mr. Muggles. I mean, suddenly the whole needing to blackmail me into having your children makes sense. "

"Wait…WHAT." He was actually pretty cute when he was sputtering like that, she thought. "You read way too many tabloids, kid," he finally replied once he got himself together again. She didn't actually think that…

"What's wrong with tabloids? I read about the woman who set herself on fire after losing a cookie competition, and suddenly, my problems, not such a big deal. It's therapeutic, you should try it. Maybe it would help with that bulging vein you got right there," she says pointing to his forehead.

"Stay on topic, Claire," He pulled her hand away from his head. He was quickly losing control of this conversation. "Do I look like I want to talk about cookies right now?"

"Well, you are planning on putting a bun in my oven."

"Claire…" he said warningly, again.

"Ok, ok. I'll stay on topic. So what's your stance on foreplay?"

"Well, I assume there will be some. This shouldn't be more painful for you than it has to be."

"Does that mean we can stop having these conversations?"

"People in mature relationships talk about these kinds of developments, baby doll."

"We're not in a mature relationship."

_Obviously, _he thinks. Otherwise, this would have been a lot simpler.

"What happened to: _Mom, Dad, I've got the greatest news: Gabriel and I are getting married_. " He's mocking her again. She does not appreciate his effort to get her inflection down right (he's clearly been practicing).

"Well pretending to get engaged isn't as pathetic as blackmailing someone into having a child with you."

"You don't have to blackmail someone who's already throwing themselves at you."

"I've never thrown myself at you. Impending parenthood must be making you even more delusional that usual."

"Oh really, than what was that kiss all about, huh?"

"Don't read too much into it. I was just trying to sell our act."

"With no one in the room to witness it?"

"I guess I just wanted to find out if you were as terrible of a kisser as Maya made you out to be."

"Don't push it," he warned, taking a step closer to her. Their noses were almost touching as they continued to yell at each other.

"Don't think you're doing me a favor."

"The company would have done it…"

"I have Elle on speed dial, you know."

"Way to kill the mood, baby doll."

"What mood?" Her hands move to his chest to push him away, but end up clutching his shirt.

"You mean this conversation isn't turning you on? And here I thought cheerleaders were easy." This was taking way too long, he thought. All the video research he did on the subject showed it being much easier than this.

"Apparently not as easy as serial killers. It was the crime scene photos from earlier, wasn't it?" she mocked, glancing down to where he was clearly affected by this conversation.

Hmm, maybe this was something she could work with. It wasn't like she was actually going to admit to him that she'd wanted to sleep with him for a while now. Especially not after he accused her of throwing herself at him. Men.

"Strip." She commanded. "No, not like that. Slower, with more feeling."

"Are you trying to get me naked or direct a Broadway musical?"

"I'm going to be a bigger person here and leave the obvious joke about you ambiguous sexuality alone."

"Smart move." He continued taking of his close, but hesitated when he gets down to his boxers

"You have done this before, right? Because you seem pretty nervous." She asked, once she saw his pause. She's still completely clothed, but that's ok. She didn't want to seem too eager now, did she?

"Do you have a death wish?" His eyes narrowed at her completely covered form and with a little help from his telekinesis, she's just as naked as he is.

"Probably, I am naked in bed with someone who tried to kill me."

"Claire," he said warningly, "What did I tell you about making this difficult?"

"I'm not sure exactly. Were whipped cream and handcuffs involved in the conversation?...No, wait. That was Adam."

He growled and flipped her down on the bed. He's even more annoyed when she just folded her hands on her stomach and stared up at the ceiling.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"What does it look like; I'm lying back and thinking of England."

"Well, stop," Sylar complained. This wasn't playing out like it did on all those videos he watched as research.

"Why are we being graded on this? Should I get judges to hold up numbers? What about extra points for difficulty?"

"Let's just stick with missionary for right now."

"Only position you studied up on, huh?" He refused to blush. There was no way she could actually know that. He covered her mouth with his, determined to find a way to finally shut her up. For a while, it worked, and the only sounds coming from her were low grunts, until she finally screamed out his name in release.

"Well you certainly nailed the dismount." So much for keeping her quite, he thought.

"Save it for next time, sweetheart."

"What makes you think there'll be a next time?"

"Well besides the way you screamed out my name? What else are you going to do for the next nine months, clip coupons?"


End file.
